


golden wheat

by honey_you_should



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Slash, also i don't know how to make titles and i'm very sorry to whoever is wrangling these tags, disgustingly lovesick, mentions of morrigan - Freeform, not that alistair will admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_you_should/pseuds/honey_you_should
Summary: Zevran and Alistair talk about their feelings for each other... sort of. It all works out in the end, probably





	golden wheat

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a lot of alistair thoughts honestly, poor boy hasn't quite come to accept that he's sweet on the guy who tried to kill his friend and is also way more suave than he is but he's getting there
> 
> i'm not entirely happy with how it came out but you can only re-read your own oneshot so many times :,D so i hope y'all like
> 
> edit 07/08/19: now with absolutely gorgeous [art!](https://targarrus.tumblr.com/post/186825197179/day-2-golden-wheat-got-inspired-by-the-story-and) by the wonderful targarrus on [tumblr](https://targarrus.tumblr.com)

He twirled the stem between forefinger and thumb, gauntlets off for once and face set in a contemplative pout he didn’t even realise he was wearing. The setting sun bathed his hands in a warm orange and the piece of wheat looked like some trinket of fine gold; without his permission, his thoughts conjured up the wheat field they’d passed through today, how the crops had swayed in the breeze just as the elf’s hair was wont to do. He’d unthinkingly trailed a hand through the grains and plucked one of the crops, eyes trailing from the slight weight in his hand to the blond head a little ways away and distantly wondered what the assassin’s hair would look like slipping between his fingers. He must have stared too long, as a bored Morrigan made some smart comment about him picking up a snack for the road? She doesn’t think Zevran would want to chew on a single grain plant you picked out of some passing field, Alistair. He didn’t remember what he replied, only that Zevran had looked over at the sound of his name; he remembered how it felt to have those intense, scrutinising eyes pass over him, trail down to the stem he was clutching like some lifeline, then settle a questioning gaze on his face for just a moment — still enough for Alistair’s thoughts and words to tangle — before dancing away, back to his conversation with the warden.

Alistair’s eyes strayed again, sitting there in camp, over to the laughing elf. His eyes were scrunched closed, his mouth wide open around a loud, bubbling laugh and the black lines down the side of his face crinkled. Strands of his hair fell around his face, looking just like the gold between his fingers. How one person could be so thoroughly infuriating yet so charming and — beneath the unending smoulder and smart comments — genuinely loyal and caring was beyond him.

More than that, there was something about the easy way the man had with seemingly everyone that Alistair ended up thinking about far too often for his liking; he never seemed to stumble, or ramble stupidly, or get stumped by an unexpected comment. He had a grace about himself in everything he did and Alistair knew, he _knew_ (because if he didn’t, then Zevran truly felt something for him and that was just so ridiculous and devastatingly impossible that Alistair never let the thought stay), that the teasing, suggestive way Zevran spoke to him meant no more to the assassin than the way he still blandished Morrigan as a way to pass the time.

Yet here he sat, entranced by some strands of hair and waxing poetic about wheat. While the world was falling apart around them, no less. He looked away and shook his head with a small scoff, trying to physically loosen the thoughts from his head. It seemed that more and more often these days, he ended up with Zevran somehow occupying his thoughts. He just couldn’t help it! The man could never answer a question directly, always joked and teased and seemed so carefree about everything… but Alistair knew — from their scattered moments of genuine conversation, if nothing else — that there was something more going on, a softer uncertainty that called out to his own doubts.

Alistair didn’t know whether to laugh at himself for such meaningless introspection or to cry from how uselessly circular his thoughts were.

He heard movement only a moment before he felt a hand on his shoulder and instantly tensed. Zevran laughed as he sat down next to him on the fallen tree trunk.

“At ease my friend, no need to stand on parade for dear little me,” came the lilting voice and Alistair tried to not lean into the man as the hand slid from his shoulder. He tried even harder to not hear the echo in his head of Zevran’s words to Shale about his _shoulders_. He was mostly successful and mentally gave himself a pat on the back for that.

“How d’you know I wasn’t about to smack you, hmm? You should know better than to go sneaking up on wardens — we’re the jumpy sort,” Alistair poked back, daring a raised eyebrow and turning his head just enough to meet Zevran’s eyes… An action that quickly backfired as he felt his ears getting hot at the sight of the elf’s eyes glinting with laughter as they met his. He quickly whipped his head away to stare straight ahead. The stem kept spinning between his fingers.

He felt more than heard Zevran’s easy laughter, the sound like tickling fingertips up his spine.

“Ah, but perhaps I _want_ you to smack me,” and Alistair whipped his head around in something of a confused panic, only to see Zevran’s teasing smirk and practically patented half-lidded eyes. “All those big muscles, but you’d still be so gentle. I’d have to _beg_ you to push harder, wouldn’t I?” Zevran wiggled his eyebrows and everything and Alistair promptly turned bright red as the meaning sunk in and his imagination quickly followed with oh-so-helpful _images_.

He had meant to point out how ridiculous Zevran sounded. The words were already half-formed in his chest. It was very eloquent and made a lot of sense and really showed Zevran that he couldn’t just go around saying things like that.

What he actually managed to sputter out was an “I don’t- that’s- I wasn’t-” and then the elf was patting his shoulder comfortingly. It was made somewhat less comforting by the way he had thrown his head back and laughed a full, delighted laugh. Alistair tried to keep his face indignant and to not look at him in open admiration (he wasn’t going to bother hoping that the blushing would stop soon).

“I tease, I tease, dear warden.” Alistair again had to try to not follow the hand sliding down his shoulder. Why did he think sitting around in his casual clothes was a good idea? They were in camp, sure, but he’d be up for night watch soon and even outside of the watch, danger could strike at any moment. With a twist in his stomach he realised that the heat, however real or imagined, was quickly leaving the skin where the other man had patted his shoulder. He found himself missing the comfort of his armour. Alistair looked down at his hands and found himself still clutching the wheat. He started a little when Zevran spoke, despite him doing so in a quieter voice than before (though still teasing, always teasing). “I actually came over to collect something a certain someone apparently acquired for me.”

Once again thrown for a loop — as he constantly seemed to be around this man — Alistair looked over at Zevran with a question on the tip of his tongue. “Who ah-acqui- er, acquired what for you?” It tripped on its way out as the sun turned Zevran’s hair to liquid gold and his eyes to amber pools; he wasn’t proud of how his breath caught, but at least he managed a whole sentence this time.

Zevran quirked an eyebrow and leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper; Alistair instinctually gravitated toward him, eyes trained on a lock of hair teasing at the upturned corner of the assassin’s lips. He pulled his eyes away to meet Zevran’s (and was sure that Zevran’s eyes _hadn’t_ gotten darker, that was just a trick of the light, definitely) as the man started speaking. “According to a certain charming lady, occasional spider, you picked me a snack from some passing field.” Alistair let his eyes flit between the bridge of the man’s nose and his tattoo as he tried to keep his head about him; he could almost physically feel the way his brain had to try to process what Zevran was saying. “I intend to collect.”

After a few long moments of _not_ getting waylaid by the man’s gorgeous eyes or tempting lips, he finally figured out what he had asked. For the most part, anyway; the way he’d almost purred that last part had sent shivers down his spine and he had yet to figure out if he was just overreacting or if the other man had really said it with more than just the surface meaning. But he did know that he’d asked about the wheat, at least. Because of course he had. Because here was a grown man walking around all day with a piece of wheat clutched in his hand like a child clutching a stuffed toy. Because Morrigan had also inextricably drawn Zevran into this. Stupid Morrigan with her stupid knowing looks; as though Alistair needed _help_ making a fool of himself.

“Oh, this?” he brought the short crop up between them at chest level and with a decisive all-or-nothing confidence, at last let his eyes meet Zevran’s. He was almost knocked sideways off of his seat by the sight of how soft the man’s expression was. He watched as Zev’s eyes traced over his hand and was taken aback by how… tentatively hopeful those eyes looked as they met his again. “I- we- yes.” He quickly closed his eyes and cleared his throat, then took a deep breath and met Zevran’s curious gaze. He was not going to lose the confidence now. He was going to get through this one. “What I mean to say is that it wasn’t a snack, it reminded me of you. Ah,” at the man’s look of confusion-turned-mirth, Alistair held up the wheat between them at face level and hurried on, “that field, the way the wheat swayed in the breeze reminded me of your hair. Before I knew what I was doing, I was running my hands through it just liked I’ve wanted to-” he looked at his fingers, curled around the stem, “Maker, it sounds stupid, but it was mesmerising and I just- I couldn’t help but take a piece. Something like you, just for me.”

Zevran sighed in a way that sounded so genuinely forlorn that Alistair almost looked up to meet his eyes. “Ah, so this charming little gift wasn’t for me after all, then?”

Swallowing in a way he hoped wasn’t loud enough to hear and fighting the urge to close his eyes, Alistair said softly “Actually, if you’ll have it, I’d like it if you took it as a… token.” There was a beat of silence, then two and Alistair was getting ready to take it all back, apologise for having misread everything and then…

Fingers almost the exact same colour as his own wrapped around his wrist and he couldn’t help the small gasp that left him. Not that he really heard it, what with the way blood was rushing through his ears like a waterfall. “Dear warden, if this is your way of wooing someone, I must admit I am not surprised that you are woo-less.” Alistair locked eyes with Zevran and any retorts died in his throat, leaving him to swallow around a lump; he took in Zev’s open face, the soft smile and softer eyes, and realised that the man wasn’t mocking him. This was the most open they had been about addressing… whatever it was that they could finally admit _had_ been growing between them and Alistair felt his heart hammering, knowing that Zevran had definitely caught onto whatever he felt for the man. And though he still wasn’t sure, couldn’t really tell, exactly what _Zevran_ felt about this, he felt his heart swelling at those soft eyes and the promises that they were making.

Wordlessly, the slighter hand moved up, tracing fingers over the back of his hand and over his fingers and finally, gently took the stem from Alistair’s loosened grip. Zevran’s other hand came up to wrap around the fingers still hanging in mid-air and before Alistair could figure out what to say, the blond head dipped and he felt a kiss brush over his knuckles. He all but choked on his tongue, feeling like his wide eyes were about to roll out of his flaming face.

Then his hand was falling to his side, Zevran standing with his usual swift grace. Alistair had to lean back a little to look him in the face, suddenly realising just how closely they had been sitting. Warm fingers traced under his chin and he met Zevran’s smiling eyes with his own mirroring that quiet glee.

“A word of advice, if I may?” Zevran quirked his lips in a handsome half-smile, “Perhaps try some brandy and a shiny trinket if you wish to woo a crow.” Alistair’s breath caught and he grinned back, reaching up to give the wrist near his face a small squeeze.

“And what if I wish to _court_ a crow, not just woo him?” he delighted in the way Zevran’s face lit up and the happy, truly happy, laugh he felt in his belly and heart more than heard.

“Then join him for dinner tomorrow,” Zevran said in that lilting tone of his, deftly tucking the stem of the crop behind one ear, “and ask him.”

Alistair kissed the palm under his chin before letting the hand go. “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> that's it, that's my first zevistair fic and possibly the only one i'll ever write BUT if you wanna shout about zevistair or pretty much any other da ship with me, i'm on tumblr at [meowing-ly](https://meowing-ly.tumblr.com)
> 
> and here's the link to the [art](https://targarrus.tumblr.com/post/186825197179/day-2-golden-wheat-got-inspired-by-the-story-and) again, in case you like looking it up at the end of a fic instead c:


End file.
